


By the Candlelight (I first saw you)

by IndigoDream



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (well abusive mother), Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light Angst, M/M, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Geralt left his home, left his mother, to enjoy life with Jaskier. But Jaskier is only present at night, and Geralt is growing lonely.Asking for his mother to come visit might have been a bad idea.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 142





	By the Candlelight (I first saw you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geekyyoungblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyyoungblood/gifts).



> The Psyche & Cupid AU is **ON**
> 
> This is a birthday gift for my lovely friend [geekyyoungblood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyyoungblood/works) who gave me this amazing idea <3 I hope you'll enjoy it, darling!! 
> 
> Also: this was so much fun to write, although now i need 10 naps 
> 
> Enjoy~!

Geralt's lover does not let him see him in the daylight. He says it's too dangerous for them, that monsters will come to haunt them and the gods will fall down on them, if Geralt sees his lover's face. It doesn't matter that Geralt doesn't know exactly what his lover looks like. 

There are a thousand ways that Geralt knows his lover. In the evening, when he comes back to the beautiful home he has gifted Geralt, he will immediately come seek his lover, finger steps so quiet they are impossible to distinguish from the howling of the wind. When he settles in bed, even if Geralt isn't in it at the moment, his lover will softly hum a tune, his eyes closing down. When this happens, Geralt finishes whatever he is doing and goes to cradle the other man in his arms. 

There is nothing he loves more than holding Jaskier. Whoever Jaskier is in the daylight, it fades as soon as he is in their bed. His blue eyes are the one thing Geralt can discern clearly in the broken moonlight that lights up their room, but they are bright sapphires. But his body, Geralt knows it. He knows the gentle curves, the soft skin, the hands rough from playing instruments, and yet still the most gentle hands that Geralt has ever felt. 

“Are you well, my love?” Jaskier asks every evening, letting Geralt’s arms wrap around him. “How goes your training?” 

Jaskier is the first one to care that Geralt wants to train in sword fighting, the first one to have looked at Geralt beyond his look. He is the first person to have made Geralt feel seen. 

They had met about three months before Geralt had followed Jaskier in the dead of the night, to escape his golden prison. It hadn’t been easy immediately between them. Geralt hadn’t trusted that a stranger wanted to listen to him speak, rather than to see him flaunt his beauty. He hadn’t understood why Jaskier would perch on the bench around the training arena and watch him, hidden underneath layers of clothing even as he hid in the dark of the night. 

The night had been the only time Geralt had been allowed to train. In fact, he hadn’t been allowed to train, when he had lived with his mother. Visenna had deemed the activity too dangerous, unbefitting of him, no matter how much he loved it, no matter how much he wished to keep training. Visenna had insisted that he do not train, and so he had obeyed, at least during the day. The nights were his, and his only. 

And then, Jaskier had come around. 

He had appeared one night, waiting around the training ground, as if he had known that Geralt would be there. Geralt had almost gone back to his quarters, afraid that this stranger would report to his mother his whereabouts. But Jaskier hadn’t moved, hadn’t said anything the first night. 

“You shouldn’t be holding yourself this way.” That had been the first time Geralt had heard Jaskier’s lilting voice. It had immediately enchanted him, but he had fought against that. 

“Then how should I be holding myself?” 

Geralt had snapped, and there had been a cascading laughter, a waterfall of delight that had fallen from Geralt’s stranger’s mouth. It had been over a week since he had started coming to the arena at night, and nothing had happened to Geralt since then. The stranger hadn’t spoken with Visenna about what he did at night. 

“I don’t partake in much fight,” the voice had started again, almost thoughtfully. “Although, I have seen my fair share of wars I suppose. I simply think that the smaller target you are, the less chance you have of getting yourself hurt.” 

Geralt had grunted, and had continued. It had gone one like that for another week, Jaskier occasionally piping up with advice, and Geralt begrudgingly accepting the comment. After that, they had started talking, and Geralt had realized how much Jaskier had held back, the two previous week. 

Jaskier could not, and would not it seemed, stop talking. He mentioned journeying and meeting people all across the world, and Geralt listened. It was easy, pleasant even, to listen to Jaskier speaking. He didn’t have to do anything but pay attention some and sometimes ask a few questions. It was easy to listen to Jaskier speaking, simply because Jaskier was pleasant to be around. 

Jaskier never demanded anything of Geralt. He had never reprimanded Geralt for starting his training again while he was speaking. For the first time in his life, Geralt had felt like he had been allowed to breathe, to have a moment of peace with someone else. He had allowed himself to believe that everything would be alright. 

“You’re troubled, my love,” Jaskier remarks sleepily tonight, his eyes blinking open and close lazily. His fingers draw a pattern over Geralt’s hand as he turns to look at Geralt properly. “What is it?” 

“I just wonder… it has been quite a while since I saw anyone outside. I am starting to… Well.” He doesn’t really know how to put the words, doesn’t want to bruise his lover with careless words. 

“You are starting to feel lonely,” Jaskier finishes with a saddened tone, and his hand reaches out to caress Geralt’s cheek. “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry. It was so cruel of me, to make you come here, where there are no humans for you to mingle with. I am gone throughout the days, you must be bored out of your mind… I am so sorry, my love.” 

“No,” Geralt interrupts him, kissing his palm and reaching out so that they are even closer, their legs intertwining. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I wanted to come with you, and I don’t regret it. I just… I miss seeing people.” 

“Tell me what I can do, my love,” Jaskier whispers, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s. “Whatever it is that you want, whatever it is that you need, I will grant it to you. I love you, Geralt, and I will always want to see you happy.” 

“You make me happy,” Geralt kisses him gently. “I just feel lonely during the day… I wondered if perhaps I could see my mother? I’ve missed her, and I think it would make her happy to see how happy I am with you. She must be worried out of her mind after I left…” 

A shadow passes over them, as if the very sky is thundering. The moonlight shudders, and the room grows colder. Geralt isn’t blind, isn’t stupid enough to believe that Jaskier has nothing to do with it. Jaskier isn’t human, that is something Geralt has come to accept. His back, so smooth and delicate, has sometimes shadows between the shoulder blades, and there are feathers that trail after Jaskier when he comes home early, just after the sun has set. He speaks of humans as if he were not one, and there are nights that he does not spend at home, always explaining that his work must be done when the sun is set sometimes. 

He is mysterious in lots of ways, but Geralt has come to accept that. Jaskier made him promise to never look at his face in the sunlight, to never search for what exactly he looks like, and Jaskier made him swear not to leave the large gardens covered in blooms and fruits from all over the world. There are rules they must keep, rituals they must follow to be in the same room together. All the lights must die down in the rooms that Jaskier walk through, and Geralt starts burning incense in the house in the mornings. He purifies himself everyday, praying at the altar at the end of the gardens, leaving offerings for those in Olympus to guard him. Before Jaskier, he had never taken his duties to the gods so seriously. Now, he prays every morning for the safety of his lover. 

"Are you sure you want your mother to come here?" Jaskier's fingers pass through his hair. "She might not approve of this life you have."

"She has always wanted what was best for me," Geralt insists. "I'm sure she will be enchanted that I am happy here." 

Jaskier's fingers curl in Geralt's mid length hair. He had cut it a week after he had arrived here, after Jaskier had told him that no, his beauty wasn’t everything he saw. Cutting the long hair had liberated him, made him feel so much lighter than he had ever felt before. It has grown a bit since then, now caressing his shoulders again, but he likes it this length. And he likes knowing that he can cut it again, if he wants to. Jaskier doesn’t control him, not the way Visenna had. 

“You miss your mother then?” The tender whisper is burdened by sadness. “I will have her brought here in the morning. She will be able to come as much as you want her to, my love. You will just have to go open the gate to the East, and she will be brought to our home.” 

“Thank you.” Geralt leans forward and kisses Jaskier again, their bodies aligned together. He feels as if he is one with his lover, as if he will never be alone again. He feels loved, utterly and wholly loved, and there is nothing more that he wants. 

In the morning, Jaskier is gone by the time Geralt wakes up, but there are carnations left next to Geralt. He places them in a vase, the clear crystal of it making the red of the petals stand out even more. 

He readies himself slowly, making sure his hair is clean, and goes to make his daily offerings, before walking to the Eastern gate. It is a small gate, barely visible in the wooden fence that separates the gardens from the large empty fields of grass that surround it. He is quite certain it had not been there the last time he had walked to this place, and yet he has no trouble finding it. It is as if it had never existed, and yet always existed, both at once. 

With a tremor in his hands, which he doesn’t know if it comes from fear or excitement, Geralt pulls the small gate open. A gust of wind blows through him, making him blink rapidly and cover his face with his elbow, trying to hide away from the warm air. When he opens his eyes again, his mother is standing in front of him, looking astonished. 

“Mother!” 

Visenna’s green eyes flutter around, looking at everything before settling on him. She’s still as beautiful as he remembers her, long red hair falling down her back as she stands regally. It’s hard to believe he is her son, sometimes. She has never looked as old as she supposedly is, her skin as fresh as a maiden’s and her steps as vigorous as the warriors who would pass through their home. 

“Geralt,” she smiles lightly, and steps forward, embracing her son. “So this is where you have been hiding away.” 

He freezes slightly as she withdraws and steps forward into the garden. “Mother-“ 

“This is quite… frugal. Retreated deep into the countryside I see. So what is it that you do here, garden? Keep company to the bees and other insects?” 

He follows her, frowning a bit. “This is my home, mother, I thought you would like to see it.” 

“Of course I am, honey.” She turns around, patting her cheek. “You could have done so much better though. Leaving in the countryside, far away from any city, from anyone, really…” 

She had always wanted him to marry richer than they were, despite that he had always craved for a simple life. She had thrown extravagant gatherings in the evenings, trying to find families that would be willing to marry off their daughter to the most beautiful young man in the world. That’s what she had called him, always, despite his protests. 

“You are more beautiful than even the goddess Aphrodite herself,” she had whispered to him one evening as she arranged his hair. “No one will be able to resist you, and we will finally have the life we deserve.” 

That rumour had spread through her parties, and more guests had come, more people for Geralt to choose from, and there had never been one who had looked at him and seen a person. They had all seen a way to parade around the city, a prize to claim. The hand of a beautiful man, the status of a god on their land, for marrying a man rumoured to be prettier than the goddess of beauty herself. 

“I,” he starts, stutters a bit, looks down. He wrings his hands together and continues, not daring to look at Visenna. “I like it here. It’s very pleasant.” 

She hums, not convinced. “I’m sure it is. Show me around then. I need to see what you call pleasant, to see if I need to worry about whom you ran away with.”

Geralt supposes that’s fair, he did not warn her before leaving. But he had left her a note, had made sure she knew he was alright and-

“You were such a bad son, running away like that,” she scolds him as they start walking the garden. “I worried sick about you. And all your suitors! Have you thought about that? Now that I have you back though, I’ll be able to bring you back home, and we can start looking for a proper wife for you. I’ve decided a husband will not bring us as much fame, after all you would have to submit to his authority, and that would be a bad look on you. Plus, you need to have children, to pass on your beauty.” 

“Mother, I-“ 

“It will be harder to find you a wife, now that you have cut your hair this way. You look quite ugly like this, in truth. We will have to wait until it has grown out again.” Visenna keeps talking, looking around the gardens, her mouth turned down in a frown. “Really, you chose to live here in this… backwater land, filled with savage plants and with barely any beauty? What a waste. You must come back with me.” 

“No, mother, I love my home,” Geralt protests, and draws her towards the house. “Here, come visit the house, I’m sure you’ll find it more to your taste.” 

The house is beautiful, with rooms that lead into others through grandiose golden arcs with precious jewels, and at those Visenna seems impressed. Still, the frown doesn’t leave her face, and she scoffs when he sits her down in the kitchen, mixing them some wine with honey and water. 

“A drink worthy of the gods,” Jaskier had said one evening, when they had enjoyed the drink together, under a dark night in which the moon had been hidden behind thick clouds. It had stormed later that evening, and they had found warmth in each other in their bed, both of their voices almost loud enough to cover the thunder. 

“You have fallen so low, not even a servant to make you your drinks and food I see.” Visenna takes the offered drink and sips it, her expression turning sourer as she gulps it. “You are still as bad with this as I remember too.” 

Geralt’s hands are shaking as he sits across from her, and he doesn’t try to drink his own cup. Instead, he lowers his hands so that they are hidden. “I’m sorry for leaving, mother.” 

“As you should be! You have caused quite the drama. But it’s alright, you’ll come home now.” 

“No, I’m staying here. I’m… I’m in love with the man I share this home with, and I won’t leave him.” 

“Then where is he?” Visenna’s voice drips with venom and anger, and Geralt’s fists tighten again. He knows that tone too well. “Where is that man who took you away from your future, from your life, from _me_?” 

Geralt opens his mouth to answer, and then shuts it. He has no real idea what Jaskier does with his days, where Jaskier works, what he does for a living. He doesn’t even know what Jaskier _looks_ like.

“He isn’t here,” he whispers, clutching his goblet of watered wine. “He is out during the day.” 

Visenna hums disapprovingly. “He probably doesn’t want to look at you when you look this hideous. Whatever made you think cutting your hair was a good idea? You look disfigured. And look at your hands, they are cut all over. Did you take that silly sword practice again? I told you it was ridiculous of you to do this. You aren’t made to fight. You are made to be fought over. Wars could be fought over your beauty, my dear, if only you stopped butchering yourself like this.” 

The more his mother talks, the less Geralt feels secure. She keeps talking and her words wrap around him, ensnaring. Her voice is loud and buries itself deep within his bones, shaking him from the inside out. He can’t stop her, can’t stop her words, and when she finally stops, he is trembling, trying to hide it. 

“Oh, my darling son.” She stands up and wraps him in her arms. “It’s alright, mother is here. I’ll take care of everything, alright? Don’t you worry, I will take care of you, you will come home.” 

“No, I-“ 

“Shhh.” She stops him from speaking. “Stay here tonight. I’ll come back in the morning, and we will talk more about it.” 

He doesn’t have the words to speak more, to resist, to say anything to defend Jaskier, or himself. He feels worthless. She always had a way of driving the words out of him, to steal the very air he breathes and cuts through him. 

She talks as he walks her back to the gate, and when she kisses his cheek, he feels colder than he has in months.

He sits in the dark that evening, waiting for Jaskier to comes home, but rather than Jaskier, it is a boy who runs up to the house. He has come before, and Geralt knows what it means. 

“He isn’t coming home tonight, is he?” He asks the boy, who is about half his height, but who grins at him as if he knows more than the world itself. “How long will he be gone?” 

“Your love begs you to forgive his absence, for he has been called to work for the next three nights, and shall not be able to come home to see you,” the boy says, his high voice strangely adult sounding. His eyes are a deep brown, the brown of freshly rained upon earth, and as always, looking at them makes Geralt shivers. There is something unnatural about this boy. “He hopes that he will be able to return soon, and gives you all his love. He hopes that your visit with your mother went well.” 

“Thank you,” Geralt sighs, wrapping his arms around himself, trying not to let himself be overcome with panic. “Is that all he said?” 

“He only added that he was eager to come home to you, sir.” The boy balances himself on one leg, moving slightly from left to right. “May I report that you have accepted his missive?” 

Geralt bites his lips, nodding. “Thank you for bringing me the news.” 

“I am but a messenger,” the boy grins. 

He turns away and runs to the west, and Geralt thinks he glimpses two small wings on his ankles as he disappears among the trees, but it is late, and he is exhausted. He can’t be sure of anything. 

Sleep does not come easily. Without Jaskier, the bed is too large, empty of any life. Questions torment Geralt’s mind and he tosses and turns repeatedly, trying to forget what his mother said. 

Jaskier loves him. He knows this. He knows that Jaskier loves him and- No. Jaskier isn’t home tonight. Jaskier isn’t home, and he sent a boy to give his message. He never warns Geralt. He doesn’t love Geralt, Geralt is just another body for Jaskier to take pleasure in. Jaskier only cares that Geralt is pretty, and now that Geralt isn’t pretty anymore, Geralt is worthless. 

In the morning, there is a bouquet of flowers waiting on the doorsteps, the way there always is when Jaskier isn’t home. Geralt puts it away, somewhere he won’t have to see it. He doesn’t want to be reminded that he isn’t worthy of anyone’s love. 

The next few days are spent talking with his mother, listening to her advice as she caresses his hair. He doesn’t go do his offerings to the temple, doesn’t move besides to go open the gate at first light, and wait until his mother appears. 

Visenna is never late, and she caresses his hair, talking to him about how he needs to come back to her home, how he needs to find himself a nice girl. Each time, he listens, and lets her braid his hair, her nails scratching his scalp. The pain of it all feels like a punishment, and he knows he deserves it. He left her alone, when she needs him. He was selfish and stupid, and he should have stayed with her. 

“Here,” Visenna says before leaving on the last evening, putting into his hand a small silver dagger. “If your… If the thing you live with hurts you, you will be able to defend yourself with this.” 

“He…” Geralt wants to say that Jaskier would never hurt him, that Jaskier loves him, but the words stay stuck in his throat. His mother must be right, he must be stupid for believing that he could be loved by someone like Jaskier. He doesn’t even know Jaskier, after all, doesn’t he? It’s all a lie. “Thank you, mother.” 

She has been telling him for the past day that Jaskier must be a monster, that he must take human shape to abuse of Geralt. After all, why else would he refuse to be seen in the daylight? He must be truly hideous, or a monster, and Visenna kept saying he must be a monster. 

“Sensible to light, probably,” she had nodded with a serious frown when he had told her he was not allowed to light a candle when Jaskier was in the room, and that Jaskier was always gone come morning. “It can’t be just that he doesn’t want you to see him. After all, he already ensnared you, put a spell on you to make you think you love him. My poor darling, look at you, look at what he has done to you.” 

Geralt closes his hand around the dagger and nods again. “I will be careful, mother.” 

“Good boy,” she pats his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning then.” 

He looks down, looks at his bare foot in the grass. It has been lightly raining all day, and the fresh air feels good on his body, but his feet are cold, digging into the dirt as if he were trying to drown himself in it. 

“Yes, mother.” He whispers, and she turns around with a satisfied hum. 

The walk back to the house is slow and, the rain intensifies. He takes his time, looking at the gardens that he loves. The flowers are still beautiful, even under the rain and with the low light of the day. A few days ago, this had been his sanctuary. This had been his home, and the home of the man he loved and who loved him. Now, it is a beautiful garden soaked in rain, and tarnished by his very presence in it. 

He washes off all the grime from his body before eating a light dinner. He isn’t hungry, but he forces himself to eat a fruit at least. The peach comes from the garden, and it is, as are all the fruits here, the most delicious peach Geralt has ever tasted. Still, it leaves an ashen after taste in his mouth, and he does not dwell in their kitchen. 

The dagger is placed under his pillow, and he wants to throw it away, but he clings to it regardless. If his mother is right… 

Jaskier comes home as the moon hides behind a few heavy clouds. Geralt stays in bed, keeping one hand on the dagger. He shouldn’t be afraid, but he is. What if his mother is right? What if he has been wrong all those years and—

“Good evening, my love.” His voice is a cascading lilt as always, a tender sound that makes Geralt’s heart vibrate. “Are you well?” 

“You were gone a long time.” Geralt avoids the question, not moving any closer. Maybe Jaskier will put another spell on him, if he isn’t careful. “What happened?”

Jaskier yawns, stretching a bit, and comes to cuddle close against his chest. “Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that. Did you receive my flowers?” 

Every morning, and every evening, as always when Jaskier was gone, flowers waited for Geralt to find them in front of the front door. Every morning and every evening, Geralt had hidden them from sight. 

“Of course I did.”

“Good,” Jaskier yawns again. “You’ve seen your mother?” 

“I have,” Geralt answers, trying to ignore the way his body aches to touch Jaskier more. “Thank you.” 

“Anything for you, my love.” Jaskier nuzzles at his neck and sighs contentedly. “I’ve missed you terribly.” 

Geralt’s heart is on the verge of breaking. “So did I.” 

Jaskier smiles against his skin and falls asleep. His breathing takes only a few seconds to even out, and then he is sleeping, puffing small breaths against Geralt’s neck that makes him shiver. 

Geralt tries to go to sleep as well, tries to forget his mother’s words. But nothing helps. Jaskier moves away in his sleep, and Geralt sits up, nerves shaking his limbs. He needs to move, to do something. He needs to know. If his mother is right, he needs to know and do something about it. His fingers find the silver dagger under the pillow again, and he slips out of bed. He has to do something. 

Finding the candle that he uses to keep the room alight while waiting for Jaskier is easy. Finding the matches is easy as well. Actually finding the strength to do this, to break the first, the most important promise he has ever made to Jaskier? It’s much harder. His hands shake as he finally lights up the candle. 

The walk back to the bed is torture. His feet move so slowly he can hardly believe it. His whole self is in engaged in a combat, one side trying desperately to know who Jaskier is, and the other wanting to respect Jaskier’s wish. But after all, if they are really lovers, shouldn’t they be able to share everything? Geralt shares everything with Jaskier, from the smallest details of his day to the darkest secret of his past. There is nothing he hides from him. 

The candlelight illuminates Jaskier’s body, and Geralt is almost disappointed as he sees a human back. Jaskier’s hair is just as brown as he had suspected, curling in the nape of his neck where it grows. As is usual in their bed, he doesn’t wear any clothing, and the light blanket is tugged down, barely covering his waist. There are shadows between his shoulder blades, but those might be tricks of the light, so Geralt doesn’t look any closer. 

Jaskier groans a bit in his sleep, turning around and— _Oh_. 

This is no man. This is not any human.

Geralt falls to his knees as he looks at Jaskier. This is a god, there is no other possibilities. The golden shade of his skin, the way Jaskier looks like he is shrouded in a gentle cloud that barely covers him, more likely to highlight his beauty than hide anything... Jaskier is absolutely _stunning_. In the candlelight, his skin shimmers slightly, warm and inviting, and his whole being is radiant. 

Geralt knows suddenly. His mother lied to him, again, manipulated him into trying to destroy his life. She wanted him to break his own heart, and Jaskier’s, and to come back crawling to her, sobbing for her forgiveness. 

He lets go of the dagger in horror and the weapon clatters on the ground, loud in the silent bedroom. 

Jaskier’s eyes fly open, and Geralt’s world shatters as his god scrambles away from him immediately. 

"Geralt...?" His voice is afraid and full of betrayal, and Geralt knows what those soft blue eyes think.

"No, love, please I didn't mean to-"

There is no more time to speak. A great brightness fills the room, and suddenly Geralt is blinking against it, his eyes burning as the light reaches every corner of the room. He has no idea what is happening, but it brings dread in the pit of his stomach, makes him want to puke and give back every single meal he has had through his life. He feels sick, and yet, he feels an unbearable warmth to his throat, and his heart beats faster, so fast it feels as if it will shatter his bones to get out. 

“How dare you,” a voice roars, but something chokes it as it does so, and suddenly the warm light is holding Jaskier, and a woman is forming behind him as he hides his face in her neck. “Oh, my sweet darling.”

Aphrodite is there, holding Jaskier tenderly. There is no denying who she is, her beauty ravaging Geralt and making him feel smaller than life. He could never compete with a goddess such as her. There is nothing in her that screams of humanity, her eyes are two endless pools of light, her hair dances softly alongside an unseen breeze. 

“You hurt my son,” Aphrodite roars, her voice terrible and breaking Geralt from the inside out, “How dare you?”

“I didn’t-“ Geralt starts, but the words are torn away from his mouth, the air tightening in his throat. He gasps, loud sounds that fill the room as he feels himself boiling from the inside. 

“Mother, no!” Jaskier is standing in front of Geralt suddenly, and there are two large wings sprouting from his back, spread large and wide to cover Geralt from his mother’s wrath. His feathers are brown, and they remind Geralt of a barn owl’s, beautiful and delicate, and so very strong. Those are the wings of a god. Those are the wings of _Cupid_. 

“Move aside, my heart,” Aphrodite orders, and Geralt feels a phantom hand take hold of his hair, tugging him down to the ground. “This miserable, pathetic mortal has hurt you, and he shall be punished for it.” 

“Mother, please!” Jaskier’s voice is strained, and the pressure on Geralt dies down. He still feels the goddess’ will on him, trying to force him down and down, but he is able to resist it. All thanks to Jaskier, he realizes, seeing the wings of his lover tremble. “You cannot do this, not in my home!” 

“You disobeyed me once already,” Aphrodite snarls, and the pressure is back on Geralt, pushing tears out of his eyes. “I will punish that puny mortal for his actions against you, and we will talk of your punishment afterwards.” 

“I love him!” Jaskier’s voice breaks, and he falls down, kneeling in front of his mother. “Please, don’t hurt him. I love him, if anything happened to him… I would die alongside him.” 

There is no longer any pressure on Geralt, no longer any power that holds him down. He stays on the ground, reaching out shakily to Jaskier. He doesn’t dare touch the feathers, doesn’t dare touching the man- no, _the god_ he loves. He is a curse on Cupid, a curse on Love itself, and he shouldn’t be there. Visenna was right, he should never have come here, he should never have let himself believe he could have this. He is rotten. 

“Make a choice, mortal,” Aphrodite’s voice surrounds him in a cocoon of wrath, her anger not yet appeased.. Still, she doesn’t seem determined to kill anymore. “Give me a reason not to kill you. Give me a reason not to send you back to the pathetic house you inhabited before my son decided to make you his companion. Choose your words, and choose them wisely, for I will not take kindly to a fool’s prayer.” 

He is given a chance, an opportunity to redeem himself. He looks at Jaskier, whose wings have retreated within him, who has joined back his mother and is holding himself tightly. His lover looks like a wounded animal, his eyes downcast and his body shaking. Geralt may not have hurt him with the silver dagger, but there are wounds that can’t be seen, that bleed for days and nights without any cure. + 

Geralt tries not to think of the damage he has caused as he starts speaking. The words tumble out of his mouth, broken and stuttered through his guilt. He can’t stop himself, repeating the words of his mother, begging for forgiveness at the same time. He doesn’t know how to express fully how sorry he is. How much he hates himself for doing this, for breaking Jaskier’s heart. He would rather die a thousand times than see the expression of betrayal and mistrust on Jaskier’s face again. 

He finishes telling everything and stays on the ground, tears soaking the wooden floor and his hands. He cannot look up, cannot bear to see the darkness spread over Aphrodite’s face. He waits for her punishment, waits for the thunder that will shatter his body and soul. 

A gentle hand lifts his chin, and he finds himself looking into Aphrodite’s face, sorrow marking her beautiful traits. She wipes his cheeks and places a tender kiss on his forehead as she makes him stand up, and her arms wrap around him, holding him gently. 

“You were hurt and broken by the one who should have loved you above all others,” Aphrodite says, and her hand wraps in Geralt’s hair, undoing all the braids Visenna had placed there. Geralt feels like a child in the goddess’ embrace. “I will make sure that venomous insect does not bother you and my son anymore.” 

He almost falls down at that, his legs unsteady, but she is still holding him down. Briefly, he wonders if that is what being held by a mother should be like; a mixture of safety and love, tenderness and protection, wraps around him and he feels at peace. She has taken him under her protection, and Geralt looks sideways, meets Jaskier’s gaze. 

His lover’s blue eyes are full of horror and unshed tears, and he seems frozen in place as he stares at Aphrodite and Geralt. His wings are folded neatly behind him, but that is the only control he appears to have on himself. His hands shake at his sides, and his mouth quivers, trying desperately to hold back the tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” Geralt says to him. “I’m so sorry, my love. I should have-“ 

“No,” Jaskier moves quickly and disentangles his mother and Geralt, wrapping his own strong arms around his lover’s waist and squeezing him tightly. “I am the one who is sorry. I didn’t see your suffering, and I missed your pain. I didn’t even notice how awful your mother truly is and I let her come into our home, harm you, poison your beautiful mind. I let her come here and break out peace, I’m so sorry, my love, please forgive me.” 

“There is nothing to forgive,” Geralt sobs and clings to him, breathing in his scent. Jaskier has always smelled like a fire burning, like lavender spilled and embalming a room with its tender scent. Jaskier has always smelled like joy and love and warmth. “You didn’t know and I- I was the one who asked for her to come here. I love you so much, Jaskier, Cupid, whichever, I should have trusted you.” 

They keep whispering and cutting each other off, clinging to the other as if their lives depend on it, and they hear a tender sigh behind them. 

“Children,” Aphrodite says and they both look up, her smile benevolent. “Get some rest. You have both earned it, earned the company of each other.” 

“Will…” Geralt looks down, looks at his hand holding Jaskier’s waist. “Will I be alone come morning?” 

“I don’t believe so,” Aphrodite smiles and looks at the both of them. “I believe my son has earned his rest. But no more secrets, my Cupid.” 

“No, mother,” Jaskier agrees and nods. “No more secrets.” 

Aphrodite smiles, and in a flash of light, she is gone again. They are alone in the room, still clutching to each other, and Geralt looks at Jaskier, his eyes flittering to his lips, and then back to his eyes, and then to the whole of him, trying to take in everything. His lover, his Jaskier, is a god. 

“Don’t think too much about it tonight.” Jaskier cups his cheek and kisses him tenderly. “There will be more time to talk about it in the morning. We have all the time in the world now.” 

Geralt nods and kisses him again, chasing after his lips until they are both breathless, and until Jaskier giggles slightly. 

“Lets go back to bed, my love.” 

With a nod, Geralt agrees and slips back under the thin blanket, holding Jaskier against him. In the morning, they will talk, and there will be more to discover about one another, but for now, they enjoy lazy kisses and tender caresses. They are together, and there is nothing anymore that will stop them from loving one another. 

**Author's Note:**

> Outtakes: Visenna get her ass beat by two gods of Love and and Geralt becomes immortal, and meets Lambert (lover of Aiden, who is also a god), and Eskel (demigod, just chilling) and they become the disaster trio of Olympus. Jaskier is still very much in love.


End file.
